


the art of scraping through

by borzbois



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Borderline Personality Disorder, Canon Non-Binary Character, Fluff, Junoverse | Juno Steel Universe, Mental Health Issues, Nonbinary Juno Steel, One Shot, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Thief Juno Steel, Vulnerability, alludes to The Monster's Reflection, inspired by s3e1 but not necessarily based on it, juno steel is trying his best, no beta readers we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 02:30:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21129296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/borzbois/pseuds/borzbois
Summary: i couldn't utter my love when it counted // ah, but i'm singin' like a bird about it nowOr, Juno works on not being a self-destructive asshole.  This step involves some painful vulnerability.





	the art of scraping through

There's a gentle wind that sifts across the sands of the Venusian desert, the sound of radiation buzzing in my ears like how I'm told cicadas used to sound on Earth. The breeze floats over my face, so hot that it feels like my skin is frying in its own oils. We're outside of a ridiculously metropolitan Venus resort, looking to grab a bite to eat before we go over the more in depth details of our latest heist. 

My name is Juno Steel, and I'm a private eye. 

Well, up until recently. Now I'm a thief, sort of. I don't like to _call_ myself a thief, per se, but more of a...requisitioner. Can I call myself a Robin Hood if I'm just stealing from the super rich to give to the super rich that pay us? 

I don't really know _what_ I am anymore. 

"Juno, are you listening?" A voice breaks me out of my thoughts. 

"Yeah, yeah, I heard everything."

"Then what was the last thing I said?"

"You asked me if I was listening." 

A sigh. "Before that, Juno."

Peter Nureyev, master thief, changer of names and currently, my partner for this job. 

Sorry, I should correct myself, he's Peter _Ransom_ today. Quite honestly, I hate the way he sounds as Ransom, his voice just a little off and the natural lilt in his voice obscured. Nureyev is under there, somewhere, but it's like digging through layers of topsoil to find the foundation. 

Okay, scratch everything I said before. My name is Juno Steel, and I am a goddamn lovesick fool. 

Peter has been especially cagey, which is saying something for him. He yells at me for trying to talk about _this__thing_ at "inappropriate times" but finds every excuse in the book to avoid me when it's convenient for him. I get why he's hurt, I get that—

Trying to rewire my brain at thirty-eight or something years old to _not_ be a mopey piece of garbage is one of the most difficult things I've ever attempted. I've got a messed up brain and although the anti-depressants I've begrudgingly allowed Rita to start shoving down my throat every morning are certainly _helpful_, they don't fix everything. I've got an "all or nothing" thinking style, a matyr complex and a genetic predisposition to being a general menace (thanks, Sarah Steel). 

The bottom line is that Peter took a chance with me, and I blew it.

The fact that I know I deserve it all in this situation makes it that much worse. 

"Peter?"

I think I interrupt him in the middle of a sentence, if his unimpressed sigh is anything to judge by. 

"Yes, Juno?" he replies, exasperated, and I can't help staring into his stupidly gorgeous eyes. 

I'm a sucker for a pretty face, and Peter has a pretty...well, everything. He's dripping with gold and jewels at his hands and collarbone, twinkling rubies leading my eyes down to the deep V of his silk cream-colored shirt. It's tucked into a pair of high waisted slacks, that follow the slender curve of his hips and legs. Even the damn sheen of sweat that breaks out along his face is punctuated by glistening sparkles, like he doused himself in some kind of shimmering cologne directly before getting dressed. 

Knowing him, that's entirely likely, actually. 

"I know you don't want to talk about it—" 

A sigh. "Juno—"

"Let me talk, please, Peter." 

It's not a phrase accentuated by my typically harsh quips or scathing curses. My voice sounds achingly pathetic, unnervingly gentle beneath the rippling Venus wind around us. I see Peter's amber eyes soften for a moment, eyes drifting away for a second, before gently clearing his throat.

"Very well, go on then."

"I know you don't want to talk about it, Peter, but I do. I'm trying to be less of a self-sabotaging asshole, and that apparently involves talking about...feelings. My feelings. So, uh, I'm gonna do that." 

There's a smirk that unfurls on Peter's face, and he is incredibly amused at the situation. I can tell he wants to make some kind of gratifying remark, just by the sheer mischief that dances behind his eyes, but he refrains himself. 

"Peter, I..." Fuck, this is hard now. This really, really sucks now. Damn it. Is it too late to back out? "I didn't want to leave. But I thought that I didn't deserve good things for myself. I was—I was scared that I would mess it all up. So instead of waiting for you to leave me...I left you. I've regretted it every damn day since I did it. And—And all I've thought about is the way your cologne smells, the way you sound when you say my name, and—and—damn it, Peter, say something!" 

"I thought you wanted me to let you talk?"

"Well, I talked. Now it's your turn."

The way Peter's smile turns up at that, I can practically hear him thinking _Ah, there's the Juno I know_. This whole "spilling your guts" thing absolutely sucks, my heart is hammering in my chest and my hands shake in my pockets. Why did I think this would be a good idea? The silence in the air only makes the dread in my stomach sink lower and lower, and I might as well shoot myself with a plasma gun and get it taken care of so I don't have to suffer this embarrassment anymore. 

"You know what, forget I said anything—"

"Juno—" 

"I messed up, and I can't fix it, and that's okay—"

"_Juno_."

"Let's just act like I never said anything and nothing ever happened—"

Peter swiftly twirls me into an alcove behind a pillar and kisses me. 

And it's...just like I remembered. 

His soft hands gently cupping my face sends tingles through my body, and there is a feeling bubbling up in my chest that I never have found the words for, but they always seem to appear when he's next to me. His lips part mine with the same natural confidence he's always had, and mine open for him as if I never stopped kissing him. I can't help but grip him close but the lapels of his shirt, fisting the silk in my hands. 

When we break away, we can't help but staring each other in the eyes. Well, eye in his case. I've just got the one. 

"Does that satisfy your—oh, how did you put it? 'Self-sabotaging asshole' tendencies?" 

I feel a blush work its way through my cheeks, and bring myself to tear my gaze away from his eyes. I look at my hands, still gripping the edges of his shirt, just barely pulling it out of its careful tuck. 

"Yes," I mumble.

"Good," he says, clearing his throat. "Now, may we go get something to eat, please? I feel quite ravenous."

"Y-Yeah, sure. Sure."

I can't quite seem to break it to him that he's not talking to me in Ransom's voice, anymore. It's all Peter. 

But I'll take it while I can get it. 

"You sure know how to take a lady by surprise."

Peter chuckles. "A man has few tricks, Juno. But I will hope that continues to be one of them, darling."

My name's Juno Steel, and I am...pleasantly surprised. 

**Author's Note:**

> what started as a warm up drabble of "huh, i wonder what Juno's narration sounds like for s3e1!" turned into this. 
> 
> i've never written tpp fic before, but wow, this was fun to write.
> 
> feel free to follow me on tumblr/twitter @borzbois!


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